The Malachor Travesty
by Cailus Griffin
Summary: Few Jedi have ever committed genocide. Fewer still have detonated superweapons. And only one Jedi, the one they would one day call the "Exile", has done so without turning to the Dark Side. This the story of Dxun, the story of Malachor, and the story of how war can break a woman's soul.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's**** Note:** As a quick note: except the name change, this story can be considered 'canon'. I have future plans for my girl, but this is merely a prequel of sorts for TSL (Knights of the Old Republic 2). The whole thing has already been written, and I'll be uploading each chapter on a weekly basis, but I'd still dearly appreciate any reviews or criticism.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own KoTOR, KoTOR2, Star Wars, my car or the Moon. Sorry to disappoint.

* * *

Dxun, the jungle moon of Onderon, was a nightmare. In the skies between the two worlds, Republic and Mandalorian warships clashed again and again, exchanging bright bolts of turbolaser fire. Every once in a while, an actinic flash would burn through the skies, momentarily outshining the sun as hundreds of beings died simultaneously. However, this celestial battle was a sideshow to the slaughter beneath.

On one of the smaller continents of Dxun, fifty thousand Republic soldiers threw themselves at the outnumbered Mandalorian defenders. The dense jungle made the combat difficult and confusing, and battle lines blurred amongst the chaos. Starfighters and transports flew constantly through the sky, occasionally being shot down into the overgrowth.

Amidst the chaos, on top of a large hill, one small Jedi stood alone. She was rather conservatively dressed, wearing simple green fatigues with a long lightsaber hilt stuck into her belt. The vaporised foliage formed a thin vapour in the air, occasionally causing a violent cough in any organics without helmets.

"Repeat, Command," Caila muttered into her mouthpiece. She brushed her brown hair out of her eyes, resisting the urge to cough. "Too much interference-"

"We need one more trip General," the response came, struggling against the static. "There's a squad one kilometer to your south-west pinned down. Clear and escort, repeat, clear and escort."

Caila wiped her hand across her forehead and recoiled when she realised how much she was sweating. "Confirmed, Command," she muttered in reply. "I'll get them. Vector north-west to Aurek Base?"

"Negative," the lieutenant at the other end replied tersely. "Clear Mandos then signal for air extraction. High Command is gathering at Aurek."

This caught Caila's attention. 'High Command', despite the pompous name, was a rather haphazard collection of military officers and Jedi who led the Republic war effort. They hadn't gathered for over a month, when they'd begun planning for the Dxun campaign, and apart from Caila, there were only supposed to be two other High Command members onworld. That the others hadn't notified her of their arrival was disturbing.

"Confirmed Command," she replied firmly. "Tell them I'll be there in an hour."

With that, Caila began running. Even in the sweltering heat and difficult footing, she ran at a pace that would shame sport sprinters, the Force fuelling her movements. This is not to say that it didn't hurt, though. She panted deeply with every step, and her legs burned mercilessly.

It didn't take long to reach the Republic troopers. They were trapped against a sheer cliff, taking cover against some boulders while their foes poured blasterfire into their ranks. There were at least twenty Mandalorians standing there, blaster rifles raised, not even bothering to take cover themselves.

Caila didn't even slow down.

Igniting her violet double-bladed lightsaber on the run, she tore into their ranks like a rancor amongst cannoks. The violet flashed without mercy, slicing through the thick Mandalorian armour with impossible ease. The whole time the Mandalorians poured red blasterfire at her, only to have each shot reflected straight back. Within a minute, red blood began to pool, and armoured body parts littered the ground.

Soon it was over, as the last soldier fell to one of his own shots. The dozen Republic troopers emerged from their cover slowly. They appeared shocked, stunned; it was one thing to hear of the Jedi Knights, but another thing entirely to see one in action.

Caila glanced around, scanning the soldiers, before finally seeing the sergeant in charge. He recovered quicker than his subordinates, saluting Caila hesitantly.

"Ma'am, I...thank you," he whispered. "We were done for. Didn't know our message got through-"

"You're welcome," Caila interrupted irritably. She raised her forearm, and pressed a large blue button on her wristband. "Prep for exfil, sergeant. Transport on the way."

The sergeant nodded, and began barking at his soldiers. As they shook themselves from their lethargy, Caila sat down upon a nearby boulder, shoulders drooped. She tried an old breathing exercise, focusing on each breath, feeling the life-giving oxygen rush into her lungs. It felt good, and her breathing slowed, but with it came an increased awareness of the Force.

She winced. It was only at moments like these, when she was doing nothing, that Caila really sensed the Force. During her Jedi training on Dantooine it had been comforting, serene, a friend. Now, it _hurt_. Every breath, despite lessening the exhaustion and pain of her body, was accompanied by a sharp and lightning-like burst of agony from within the Force. It hadn't been particularly bad when they'd first landed on Dxun, but now it was worse than Caila had ever known. Worse than Luk II. Worse than Habbal Prime. Worse than Serroco, even.

Above, a loud drone commanded the attention of everyone below as the Republic gunship lowered. It looked just as battered as Caila felt; one of its repulsorlifts was blown off, the starboard blaster cannon was bent, and carbon scoring almost completely concealed the red and blue paint. None of the troopers noticed, though. Indeed, they looked upon the descending craft as if it was covered in diamonds.

Caila got up wearily, and after a few minutes of assisting the wounded onto the cramped deck, the gunship accelerated out into the jungle, staying as low as possible, skimming the hills. It was a relatively short distance to travel; within only a few minutes, Aurek Base was in sight.

Aurek Base and its other four siblings across the galaxy were some of the very finest examples of Republic military engineering. Three weeks ago, the Jedi and Republic forces had been huddling in tents and makeshift shelters. Now, an enormous twelve-kilometre square base dominated the jungle. High walls surrounded the compound, with countless turbolaser batteries pointed outwards on top of them. The place was fully stocked with everything an army might need, from communications stations and starfighter hangars to such simple accommodations as warm water showers in the barracks. All assembled within three weeks. Eventually, once the Mandalorians were driven from Dxun and Onderon, the base would be packed up into its dedicated fleet of transports and taken to be built somewhere else. Only the Republic with its immense economic and technological might could accomplish such a feat...and the deployment of the valuable Aurek Base spelled a dark fate for the Mandalorians. Their own fortress was a hundred kilometres due south.

As the gunship landed, a small team of techs and medics converged on it. Caila ignored them all, and simply strode off towards Aurek HQ, a squat building in the centre of the base. She desperately needed a shower, but curiosity overrode hygiene today. The guards of the HQ saluted smartly as she entered and passed through the usual security checks required to enter the inner sanctum.

The central Operations room was much as Caila remembered it from other campaigns. Screens lined the walls, showing various parts of the battle raging outside, and the High Command itself sat at a large round table. The table was simple grey metal, and the chairs straight-backed and uncomfortable; Revan's not-so-subtle way of keeping his generals and admirals on the job.

Revan himself was sat at the far end from the entrance, dressed (as usual) in simple Jedi robes, cloak and all. He and Malak were in deep conversation, but both looked up upon her entrance. The other members of the High Command fell silent almost immediately. Suddenly self-conscious, Caila slipped into the nearest empty chair at the table. Only now did she realise that her green fatigues were absolutely covered in Mandalorian blood.

"Welcome back," Revan said with a simple nod. He was wearing his mask, as usual. "And well done. Our southern flank is secure thanks to you. How is the situation out there?"

"Catastrophic," Caila said bluntly. "We're losing too many troops. But you know that." Glancing around the table, she leaned back wearily. "Any reason for this little shindig?"

Revan nodded, and gestured to Malak, who stood. Bald and tattooed, he'd look intimidating if it weren't for Malak's constant good humour. However, young Malak was noticeably dour today-probably from the pain within the Force.

"It's taken four years," Malak began grimly, "but we think we're almost ready to win this war. The Mandalorians' resources are getting smaller every day, and unlike us, they have no reserves, no influx of reinforcements. Their ships might be better than ours, but many of them are carrying damage from previous battles. Their crews are exhausted. Their ground troops are in the same boat...no pun intended." He grinned half-heartedly at this, but the lack of reciprocal smiles sobered him quickly. "As it stands, we believe that Mandalore is preparing a full-scale retreat back into the Unknown Regions. His fleets are busy securing the hyperspace routes leading away from the Republic, and in the last few days, almost his entire remaining army has been evacuated from Dxun. There are only a couple thousand troops left to hold their fortress."

One of the admirals, a wily Corellian, gave him a sceptical look. "How can you know that, Jedi Squin...Squinquar...Squin-"

"Just call me Malak," Malak said irritably. "You're new, admiral, so I'll forgive your ignorance. Never liked my surname, anyway."

"Right," the admiral said with an amused smile. It took Caila a moment to remember his name: Lanno Jasvik. She'd served under his command at Serroco, but he'd only been promoted to the High Command last week. "Jedi Malak. How do you know all this? Jedi powers, or something more mundane?"

"Combination of both," Malak said with a vague shrug. "Fleet Intel has some agents in the Mando supply chain. Check with them if you like. But believe us when we say that what we say is true. Mandalore is retreating. He probably plans to disperse his ships into small groups and scatter them throughout the entire Outer Rim, keep us locked in a guerrilla war. We won't let that happen-but that's a different briefing."

He glanced down at Revan, who was sat casually, legs crossed. "First off," Revan said quietly, "we finish business here. Ground forces will initiate a final assault on Mandy One, while the Fleet makes preparations for an extended deployment. Once Mandy One is taken, the Open Circle, Blue Crescent and Seventh Chevron fleets will continue to a secret rendezvous under the command of myself and Jedi Malak. The rest will proceed to a different rendezvous, to be revealed later."

If there was any concern about the secrecy, nobody spoke up. Indeed, everyone looked at Revan with a rather odd expression-except Caila. "How do you expect to beat that fortress? It doesn't matter if there's two thousand Mandos in that thing or twenty thousand, it's still impossible to breach. Ten meter thick _ba'ras_, fifty meter tall walls, parapets every twenty meters. Shields protect their snipers from ours, and believe me, there is no way you can breach that thing with artillery. Their AA dominance is total. Their subterranean defences are beyond even all that."

Caila's matter-of-fact tone clearly shook the other members of the High Command, who immediately began muttering amongst themselves. Even Revan and Malak appeared disturbed, glancing at each other apprehensively.

"What about focused demo under an energy shield?" General A'Tuin said loudly. He stood and leaned forward, hands on the table. "A focused baradium blast will do the trick. Might take a couple of hours, but it'll break those walls, I guarantee it."

"You'd need twenty minutes to set up the shield," Another general said dismissively. "The Mandos would destroy it immediately. Not an option."

As the discussion continued, Caila became aware of Revan. He was looking straight at her, completely ignoring everything else, and practically radiating smugness. She tapped him with the Force in a not-so-polite dismissal, but Revan persisted in his amusement. It only took her a few moments to realise why, and she sighed, nodding in acquiescence.

With an easy grace Revan stood, and the chamber immediately fell silent. "I can break through those walls," he said into the silence. "The Force is all I need. We will initiate a full infantry assault in two days time. It will be a phased insertion during the night to a line eight kilometres from the fortress' walls. After that we gather into standard line formation, split by regiment. At 0800 hours, the army will advance, steady march. Malak and I will lead a small group of Jedi Knights at the front of the line. When we get to within range-ten meters should be enough-I'll do my thing. Malak and the other Jedi will protect me. When the wall falls, the army will flood into the hole and complete the conquest. Any questions?"

Silence greeted him. "Good. Let's get to it."


	2. Chapter 2

In the High Command bunker of Aurek Base, Caila and the other dozen generals stared at Revan as if he'd grown a second head. For his part Revan looked uncomfortable, looking around in apparent confusion; whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. He glanced at Malak, who merely winced.

"Let me get this straight," General Scimra said. His lekku stood on end as he spoke. "You want to use…the _Force_…to breach a ten meter thick besk'aa wall. You want us to rely on…magic." At Revan's meek answering nod, he sat back, eyes wide in disbelief. "And here I thought we were winning…"

"We _are_ winning," Revan replied forcefully, his former meekness forgotten. "And this will pave the way for final victory. I promise you General, within four weeks, this war will be over."

Scimra looked unconvinced. Caila for her part was beginning to feel her exhaustion from the day of battle but drew heavily on the Force to keep herself focused, and she watched Revan closely.

"You think you can pull that off?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "This would be big. I haven't heard of a telekinetic feat like this since…"

"…since Nomi Sunrider at Dac, I know," Revan finished. He made a visible effort to meet the eyes of every Jedi in the room, one at a time. "I've studied this intensively. I know how she did what she did, how she did it. How she pushed that skyscraper, how she knew exactly where to apply pressure. I studied under Master Vandar about how to translate that much raw energy through my body. And I know, I _know_ I have the power to do this." His eyes finally rested on Caila and his sheer determination was frightening, even through the mask.

After this proclamation, another silence fell upon the group. They all looked awkwardly at each other as Revan sat down, before finally, Scimra stood up. "You and your Jedi have the full support of the Republic, sir. If you say you can do it, we trust you."

Caila blinked. _His _Jedi?

Revan for his part sounded relieved as he thanked Scimra, and they all began to get into the nitty gritty of the actual battleplan. Caila didn't bother paying too much attention, as much out of fatigue as from it not being her problem. She was a warship commander in training, vocation and experience, as Revan knew well. He was the one who'd seen her potential in the first place, insisting she take a position with the Navy as opposed to the Army.

"…Now, we need to get onto the subject of our reserve forces. They will be relatively large, perhaps ten battalions and a couple of armour divisions. Mostly the troops who've been here longest, and who've suffered the most. This force will also include all planetside Jedi healers for obvious reasons. General Caila will command our reserves, and be prepared at any point-"

"_What?_" Caila's exclamation came out before she could stop it, and heads swivelled to her in response. She straightened in her chair, glaring daggers at Revan. "Why are you putting me in charge of ground-pounders? I'm a star driver, not a mud slinger. You know that, you're the one who told me that in the first place!"

For his part, Revan didn't look sheepish as he had before. Indeed, the way he was looking at her was almost…scary. His entire body was stiff, and Caila became aware, more than at any other time, just how much her childhood friend exuded raw power. The Force brewed within him like a storm, only just supressed…and the man communicated that with a _look_. "I am your superior officer, General. And the senior Jedi present. You will address me as such."

Caila stared, not quite believing what she was hearing. She glanced around at the other members of the High Command, who averted their gaze. Her fellow Jedi simply shook their heads, while Malak was actually scowling. _Malak_, of all people. The man was a walking comedy show, for Force's sake.

It took a few moments to summon her Jedi reserve, to settle down. Finally Caila bowed her head in submission. "I…apologise." She knew she should say more, but a very un-Jedi-like feeling was stopping her. "My original point remains...sir. I am…ill suited to a ground command. I understand why you put me down here in the first place, as I was the only one with first-hand experience of Dxun. And I understand why you kept me there, because there weren't any other serious space engagements besides that thing in the Unknown Regions. But there are a half dozen people more qualified to lead the reserves right here." The half dozen in question smiled in appreciation; in the overall chain of command, she actually outranked all of them besides Revan and Malak.

Revan assessed her coolly. "I realise this. All I can say is…trust me. I have reasons for this assignment that I cannot divulge right now. Do your duty."

While Revan and the others continued to discuss the battleplan, Caila sank back into her chair. She'd noticed that nobody else, not even the intemperate Scimra, had risen to her aid. Indeed, they all acted like nothing had happened, as if those orders were perfectly reasonable and logical, even though they weren't. After the conference concluded and Caila went to a well earned rest, that bothered her more than anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

On one of the vast fields of Dxun a vast host marched grimly to their fate. Thirty thousand men and women of dozens of different species, all united by common cause. All were armed in one way or another; blaster rifles, vibroswords, lightsabers. Tanks and huge mechanical walkers were dotted around the formation, their formidable heavy weaponry

At the head of the army were perhaps the most unique beings of all. Twenty Jedi stood with Revan at the vanguard of the force, all clad in typical Jedi battle garments, and all representing and wielding immense power.

Far behind them, and with her own substantially smaller army, Caila watched the march with baited breath. The Mandalorian fortress was in sight, and it was every bit as imposing as the army that approached it. It was a simple construction; a single huge wall spanning across the entrance to a similarly enormous box canyon, buried within the surrounding mountains. Through her macrobinoculars, Caila could clearly see the Mandalorian soldiers on the parapets, even the snipers as they lined up their shots. The first line of Revan's army was near maximum engagement range when he stopped, and simultaneously, so did thirty thousand others. Through the Force, Caila felt him searching for her, and reluctantly submerged herself into it so he could find her. The immense death and pain of the last few months hurt more than she could bear, and she was grateful when Revan found her almost immediately. Wordlessly he communicated a simple order before withdrawing, full of grim resolve. There was something else there, but she was too distracted to understand what it was.

As if she were coming out of a daydream, Caila stood up straighter and turned to one of her aides, a young Marine corporal. "Tell the techs to connect the broadcast audio units to Supreme Commander Revan's mask. Set the audible range so it covers all our troops." She paused, then added "Make sure it covers the Mandalorians too."

Revan hadn't explicitly ordered that, but it was a good move. Besides, knowing him, Revan had predicted she'd do it and adjusted accordingly.

After a few seconds his voice roared through the Dxun plains, enormous emitters sending his words to every living being within ten kilometres. "Soldiers of the Republic! My friends! Here, today, we stand ready for the final charge. You have done this. You have brought this moment forward, fought the enemy on countless words. Together, we have driven the enemy to his knees. Behind that wall stand the last Mandalorian soldiers in the entire Republic. This is it. You have already won, my friends. Now all that remains is to complete our victory!" Revan bellowed the last words with as much passion as he could muster. "Will you stand with me?"

An almighty roar erupted from the thirty thousand, deafening even the emitters. Caila actually stepped back a pace as the Force itself reacted to such an enormous outburst of emotion. Without hesitation, even without fear, the army surged forward, first as a fast march, then into an all out sprint.

The Mandalorian response was instantaneous and utterly professional. In an instant, hundreds of sniper rifles fired their lethal laser bolts. Then the rifles fired again, and again, and again, while within the walls enormous artillery batteries opened fire themselves.

The result was marginal. Energy shields sprang up around the army, deflecting the majority of the sniper rounds and almost all the artillery shells. The Mandalorians kept it up though. They knew just as well as the Republic troopers that those shields would fail soon.

Of course, Revan wasn't giving them much of chance. He and his Jedi ran with impossible speed in a spearhead formation, Revan its point and its focus. The army was right behind them, some firing blaster rifles blindly up at their enemies in a vain attempt to distract them. As the army closed to within a hundred meters mines exploded all along the front line, killing hundreds in seconds, but the army continued the charge, trampling over the dead and wounded to do so. As they closed, the protective energy shields began to lose effectiveness and more and more troopers fell to Mandalorian fire.

For all that though, there were thousands more to fill the holes. Revan and his Jedi were relentless. They dodged artillery shells with impossible agility, deflected sniper rounds right back at the shooters and all the while kept up the pace. Within minutes of starting the charge, they'd reached the point they needed, right below the great wall. Without a word the twenty Jedi reformed into a tight chevron in front of Revan, who de-activated his blue blade and knelt.

It took the rest of the army only a few moments to join them. Fervor and inexperience had completely dissolved their battle formations into a simple writhing mass, thousands of beings with nowhere to go. The officers and NCOs got around to organising their troops into rough formations, deploying miniature energy shields as cover from the storm of blasterfire overhead. Despite their best efforts though, the casualties were appalling. The blasterfire was too intense, too accurate, and the cheap armou sported by the soldiers was horribly ill-suited to the challenge. Hundreds died by the minute, trapped between the walls and the army behind. As the minutes passed, blood began to pool in the ditches, and the battle cries of the Republic Army turned, quite suddenly and quite horribly, into screams of pain and fear. The Jedi were easily noticeable amongst them, their lightsabers flashing in constant motion, but they showed no concern or empathy for the soldiers dying around them, even when those same soldiers begged for help. As the great energy shields finally overloaded from the strain the Mandalorian artillery began to fall in earnest, ripping into Revan's forces mercilessly.

Kilometers away, Caila watched the massacre with tears in her eyes. For months she'd fought on this wretched rock, and seen countless people die. Some beheaded, some from blood loss, some exploded, some from horrific gut wounds. In the last four months she'd commanded-and lost-three entire battalions of brave soldiers. Now the very same tragedy was being repeated-but within minutes, instead of weeks.

"General?"

The corporal's murmur took her by surprise. He was a Tw'lek boy, no older than 18, and looked utterly terrified. "Yes, Corporal?"

"Is…is all this…worth it, ma'am?"

As another artillery shell fell, vaporising twenty people in an instant, Caila found she had no answer.

* * *

Finally, after half an hour of this, something changed. Caila was the first to feel it. Somehow, even without reaching into the Force, she could sense the immense concentration and effort being expended by Revan. The sheer energies involved were beyond her comprehension, but she could feel _him_. His aim, his technique, his complete ignorance of just how tired his Jedi protectors were getting.

After a minute, Caila wasn't the only one noticing. The Mandalorian blasterfire was starting to slow down, the artillery shells firing less and less often. The Republic troopers also seemed to stop, huddled on the ground. A great weight seemed to be pressing down on all of them, in their very hearts, and none of them could ignore it.

Then it broke.

The wall of the Mandalorian fortress directly in front of the Jedi spearhead detonated. In an instant, with a distinctive and irrepressible _boom_, the ten-meter thick section of wall blew inwards back towards the heart of the fortress itself. Dozens of Mandalorians died instantaneously. After a moment the sonic wavefront of the explosion hit Caila and her reserve troops. She smelled blood.

With her macrobinoculars, she could see Malak help Revan to his feet. The young Jedi looked shaken after what he'd done, but gamely activated his lightsaber, shouted, and charged straight in to the gap. Behind him came twenty Jedi Knights. Behind them, and distinctly hungry for blood after being cannon fodder for half an hour, came the entire Republic Army.

At this point, Caila deactivated her macrobinoculars. She didn't need to see any more. "Corporal Detai, dispatch a runner to send a priority message to Coruscant. Tell them we have taken Dxun. Lieutenant Ronon, tell the Third and Fourth Brigades to advance and recover our wounded. Commander Gerrous, wait five minutes then launch our transports. Hold one for me."

* * *

By the time Caila's strike force reached the fortress in their aircraft, the battle was all but over. The Mandalorians fought brutally but they simply couldn't hold back so many, not without their walls. Wherever their defences held, a Jedi would break them. Whenever there was a counterattack, hundreds of troopers would consume them. The Mandalorians who stayed on the walls were overwhelmed by blasterfire on all sides. Once Malak and the other Jedi disabled the shield generators and anti-aircraft batteries, gunships and artillery pounded the few pockets of resistance remaining. It was over.

Caila's transports landed within the main landing area just behind the walls where Revan was waiting, arms folded as he observed the battle. The main part of it was over; the Republic had secured the walls and the area behind them. Now there was the grisly business of hunting the Mandalorians down room by room, building by building. Another dozen Jedi leapt off the transports behind Caila to join the fight, leading entire platoons of special forces, elite men and women who were trained for precisely this kind of scenario. Revan didn't even flinch as they ran past him, simply watching the ongoing fighting. He waited until she'd stepped right up next to him before glancing at her.

"Incredible, isn't it?" he said cheerfully. "I was expecting to take far more casualties than this. Twenty thousand, at the very least. As it stands, we might get away with only half that."

She didn't say a word as she stepped up to stand beside him, arms crossed.

"This'll make the next stage of my plan far easier. We won't have to wait for reinforcements from Corellia. We can just go ahead and let the Onderonians clean this mess up while we go on the offensive. My fleet is in bad shape, but the rest-" he stopped adruptly, and looked at her with wide eyes. "Uh…Kay? Are you…are…"

"I'm perfectly fine," Caila whispered. She didn't try to wipe away the tears, which had been falling non-stop since the battle had begun. "Just…a reaction."

Revan raised a hand as if to comfort her, paused, and reconsidered. "We won, though," he said softly. "The Republic is safe. The Outer Rim is safe. Isn't that…?"

"I suppose," she replied just as softly. The Force felt like it was screaming right now. "Just give me a day to…meditate. I'll be fine. Just-"

"-need to get away from this wretched rock, right?" This time Revan did place a hand on her shoulder . "I know, I can feel it too. We all can. The disadvantage of being a Jedi, I suppose." Glancing around, he nodded to himself. "I'll sort this mess out. You get back to your ship, I know you haven't seen it in weeks. We'll assemble the High Command and meet there tomorrow morning."

She nodded absently, still half conscious. "But…aren't you tired? That thing with the wall…"

Revan shrugged. "I can still direct the battle, and Malak can lead the troops. Besides, compared to what you've been doing for the past four months, this is nothing."

Still nodding, Caila walked back to the transport. In the back of her mind, behind all the shock and anguish, she couldn't help but notice that Revan was still smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

Returning to the _Saviour_ was like waking up anew. There was no war here, no death, none of the sadistic brutality on the moon below. Instead there was camaraderie, the feeling of safety, and the reassuring routine of military life. As she stepped off the transport, Caila took a moment to simply breathe it all in. Granted, the ship wasn't as peaceful as the Jedi Temple or the Dantooine Enclave, but compared to what she'd just come from, it was heaven.

Waiting for her, and looking quite harried, was the ship's commanding officer, a Twi'lek woman who looked far younger than she was; a common occurrence with the species, who aged more gracefully than most. Despite looking the same as Caila's own thirty one years, Captain Nao was actually sixty four.

"Welcome back General," she said respectfully to Caila. "We were wondering if you'd ever come back from the mudball. How's he doing?"

She didn't need to specify who she was talking about. Not in this fleet. "He did it," Caila replied wearily. "And may the Force help any Mandolorians still down there."

Nao nodded grimly. "Days like this make me glad to be a Navy woman. We're all set, by the way. The remaining Mandalorian ships went to hyperspace last night. Revan's ships took the brunt of the fighting, by his orders-" (Nao scowled to show what she thought of that) "-so our battlegroup is still more or less in good shape. We also received reinforcements an hour ago, from Ord Mantell. Eight ships under the _Ravager_, placed under your personal command on Revan's orders."

"_Ravager_…" Caila wondered aloud. The name didn't sound familiar, but she could guess. "That's one of those big brutes, isn't it?"

Nao grinned at her friend's subtle denouncement of the battleship. "Dead on. I think Revan is expecting you to transfer your flag there, but-"

"-but he's not that stupid," Caila said with a smile. She glanced around the _Saviour_'s landing bay with affection. The ship was tiny compared to the _Ravager_. She was only a _Hammerhead_-class cruiser, one of hundreds in the galaxy. However, this ship was home. It had been her flagship ever since the war had started, and had fought in more battles than most. "To hell with what Revan wants. I'll take a veteran ship over one of those pigs any day." She raised her voice a little so that some nearby crewmen could hear, and they smirked in appreciation. "Speaking of which…could you arrange for one of the meeting rooms to be set up for the High Command? Meeting at…" she paused, as Revan had not specified a time, then shrugged. "Meeting at 0800 hours. Top security."

Nao glanced at her commanding officer's expression and winced. "We're going back into the meat grinder, aren't we?"

As they left the landing bay, Caila sighed. "You know what they say. No rest for the wicked…"

* * *

The following morning, after a surprisingly restful sleep, Caila strode onto the bridge of the _Saviour_. It was a comforting feeling, even though she'd been back aboard the ship since the previous day. The officers and crewmen maintained their professionalism, completely ignoring her, as they should. Outside the viewports were dozens of ships, ranging from small support frigates to combat cruisers like the _Saviour_ to giant battleships like the _Ravager, Leviathan_, and Revan's flagship, _Coruscant's Wrath_. It was an impressive sight, especially with Onderon's natural beauty below. Caila was privately grateful that the fleet had assembled in orbit of Onderon, rather than Dxun; even at a distance, the moon exuded pain.

Nao glanced back at Caila as she walked up, and nodded in greeting with a distinct look of mischief in her eye. "Looking quite…formal, today, aren't we sir?"

Caila glared at Nao briefly. Rather than the simple fatigues she usually wore, she'd instead chosen her Jedi robes. "The occasion does seem call for it," she said drily. "Besides, the last time the HC met I was covered in blood. I want to make a good impression."

Nao nodded. Truthfully Caila had never liked wearing the traditional Jedi robes, even before the war. They were heavy, the cloak was a constant irritant, and they were simply unnecessary. As Kavar had drilled into her time and time again: if you need robes for somebody to recognise you're a Jedi, then you're doing it wrong.

"When do Revan and the others arrive?" she asked absently, thinking nostalgically back to her days as a Padawan under Kavar.

"Malak got here ten minutes ago," Nao reported duly. "The others have been trickling in for the past hour. Revan and Captain Nuror will be here in…" she paused, squinting at an overhead monitor. "Twenty minutes. Just in time. _Ravager_ and her support ships have also slotted into formation without any problems. They're green as can be-half of the ships just came out of the yards-but they've got plenty of firepower."

"Firepower." Caila frowned at the word. Maybe it was because she'd just been thinking of Kavar, but a part of her disapproved of it. Force knew he would've. When her old Master had learned she was going to war he'd wished her well, but hadn't been able to hide his disappointment.

Nao raised an eyebrow at her non-sequiter but didn't comment. After a few minutes of simply standing on the bridge enjoying the quite spectacular view before them, Nao and Caila wordlessly departed for the meeting.

* * *

They arrived at the door of the meeting room at precisely the same moment as Revan, who was accompanied by the captain of his own flagship, a young and distinctly attractive Miralan. He was deep in discussion with her as Nao and Caila approached, and only briefly acknowledged his hosts before proceeding insde. Although Nao followed without hesitation, Caila didn't, briefly amused by what she'd just witnessed. Although Revan's mind was as well shielded as always, the mind of his captain was…not. And there was no denying the lust she'd been exuding while talking to the Supreme Commander. It was bizarre given that the man never took off his mask nowadays, but maybe that was just Caila. She could still remember Revan as a lovesick teenage Padawan, puppy eyes and all.

She followed behind Nao after a moment, taking a seat at the circular table which had been installed overnight. Nao and the other captain (whose thoughts had turned strictly professional upon entering the room) stood off to the side, technically only being observers. The chat between the admirals, generals and other Jedi ceased the moment Revan reached his seat, Malak at his right hand as always.

"My friends," he said brightly, "I think-and you can trust me on this-the war is about to end. The Senate is dispatching four entire fleets to take up patrols of the Mid Rim. The Jedi Council has finally decided to send Jedi Knights out with those fleets to help planets that the Mandalorians invaded, the planets that we've liberated. They'll be our backup, protecting the borders, so we can take this war to the next logical step. The all out destruction of Mandalorian civilisation." There was a general murmur of approval at this, Caila right along with them. They'd been dreaming of this moment for years. "With Dxun gone, Mandalore is retreating back to the Outer Rim. He wants to extend this campaign as much as possible; he'll move along the Outer Rim, raiding and pillaging, never staying in any one place too long. He'll lead us across the galaxy and back again, fighting a rearguard action, never letting himself be drawn into a pitched battle. As you can imagine," he said with a scoff, "I'm not going to let that happen."

Behind him, a large viewscreen came to life, showing a starmap. "This is the Rotok sector," he explained, careful to keep his voice and tone especially clear. "It's a long way away, everyone. It's on the edge of the Outer Rim, a stone's throw away from the Wild Space where those bastards came from in the first place. We've identified _this _system-" (a random star was highlighted, tagged 'Galor') "-as his main staging area, once his fleet actually reaches that sector. It's a pretty poor system, really, which is why he doesn't think we'll find him; a blue supergiant star and a few uninhabitable planets. Just a layover."

He stopped for a moment, allowing everyone to absorb the information. Caila paid especially close attention while exchanging a glance with Nao, who surprised everyone by speaking up. "With the utmost respect Supreme Commander," she said gently, "from exactly what do you base this belief that the enemy will assemble there?"

Revan ignored her. Instead, Malak calmly stood and walked around the table, eventually standing right in front of the starship captain. He towered over her, his expression utterly passive. Despite being more than twice his age Nao stepped back, eyes wide.

"We have _excellent_ sources," Malak said calmly. "of the _utmost_ reliability. You really shouldn't question us." He paused, and tilted his head in feigned bewilderment. "In fact…why are you even here? A mere captain…and an impertinent one at that…"

That was more than Caila could bear. She herself stood, glaring at his back, then just as calmly walked up around Malak, facing him with Nao at her back. "She's the captain of this ship Malak," she said very quietly. "And she has ten times more experience on a starship then you do. You _will _treat her with respect."

The larger Jedi persisted. "She has no right to be here, Kay."

The use of her childhood nickname threw Caila off-balance. The contradiction was just ridiculous. She'd known Malak since he was eleven years old, had played with him, trained with him; Malak had teased her and Revan constantly back then, always merry, always lightening the mood. During his Jedi Trials he'd been presented with an illusion of an angry Sith Lord, and he'd passed by _telling jokes_ in the middle of the lightsaber duel. In the end Master Zez-Kai-El, who'd been posing as the Sith, lost by simply laughing too hard, breaking the illusion. Contrasting that Malak to this Malak…

With a sigh, Caila looked straight up at her childhood friend who glowered straight back. The memory calmed her, soothed the flame inside her. "Just relax, big guy. She has the security clearance, and I invited her. Besides, she saved your butt from that escape pod at Habbal Prime. Even let that pretty doctor tend to you, and I know how much you like pretty doctors…"

The tension in the room, which had been rapidly approaching boiling point, suddenly broke. Several of the senior officers chortled, and behind her, Caila could hear Nao's stifled giggles. The doctor in question was actually Nao's wife, and that particular story had run rampant throughout the fleet a few years ago. How Malak had slept with the doctor, learned she was married, and in a panic confessed the whole thing to Nao on the _Saviour_'s bridge the next morning, all while completely ignorant of their open marriage. Malak's mouth twitched, and without a word he whirled round and returned to his seat. Caila couldn't sense a thing from him as she also returned to her seat, which was just as well. For such a clown, Malak was easily embarrassed when he became the butt of the joke.

"To answer your original question," Revan drawled, dark amusement in his voice, "I have multiple sources. Fleet Intelligence has narrowed down Mandalore's potential next move to that sector. I've studied his strategies, his mindset, and I believe he'll assemble there. Also, I've reached into the Force to validate this assertion." Caila raised a skeptical eyebrow at this, as did the other two Jedi Knights present besides Revan and Malak at the table, but the drama just seconds ago made them reluctant to comment. "This gives us an invaluable, and unmissable, opportunity. We know where Mandalore will be. We have our entire fleet assembled. And, most importantly, he doesn't know we're coming." Revan's voice took on a new urgency now, his fists on the deck. "In six days time the main body of our fleet will arrive in the Galor system right next to the Mandalorian staging point. I'll broadcast a challenge to Mandalore: to face me in honourable combat, one on one, on the bridge of his dreadnought. If I win, the Mandalorians abandon the right to make war on the Republic for all eternity, and we let them leave the Galor system without incident. If he wins-and he won't, by the way-then my ships present in-system immediately and unconditionally surrender."He H


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's** **Note**: Since one kind person reviewed (thank you ^_^), I've decided to upload the remaining chapters a tad quicker. Enjoy.

* * *

For the second time in a week, complete silence surrounded Revan. He didn't look confused this time, though. Instead, he looked supremely confident.

Caila glanced around at everybody in utter bewilderment. They all seemed conflicted, and none seemed to have the courage to speak up. Nao, having been so firmly put in her place before, didn't say a word. Caila considered staying silent herself, feeling an odd compulsion to do so; this was Revan after all, the most brilliant Jedi and man she'd ever known. Trusting him was the most natural thing in the world. But…

"Rev." Her voice began as a whisper, but grew in strength. "That's a risk. A huge risk. If we lose those ships…lose you…we are right back to where we started. The Mando bastards will be back on Dxun in a month. You have no way of knowing he'll accept the challenge, no way of knowing he won't betray you and blast the shuttle to smithereens while you're headed over, no way of knowing he won't just turn his guns on your fleet and shred them. Stars Revan, you don't even know if you'll win! Mandalore killed Master Pol last year, do you remember that?"

Revan's reply was measured and utterly calm. In the Force, however, the perennial storm that raged within his heart seemed to grow in intensity, the edges of its power reaching Caila even from across the room. "I am certain, Kay. I know the Mandalorians. I know Mandalore. And I will kill him. And after I kill him, when my shuttle is back onboard the _Wrath_, we attack." Caila opened her mouth to protest, but Revan didn't let her, his Force presence growing, smothering her with sheer force of will. "We'll shoot at them, piss them off, then run like hell. We'll arrive at this system, Malachor, where you'll be waiting with your fleet. And then we will wipe the Mandos from the face of the galaxy, once and for all." He continued staring at her as if they were the only two beings in the galaxy, his yellow eyes (weren't they supposed to be amber?) burning even from behind the mask. "I know what you'll say. That breaking our word and attacking them is dishonourable. Well I tell you now, honour is a fool's prize. When the Mandos run from Galor and begin burning their way through the Outer Rim, those millions of innocents won't give a damn if the promise of one Jedi was kept. We will destroy them at Malachor though, I promise you that. Now, and forever."

With that the High Command, one and all, began clapping, even cheering. Caila and Revan ignored them. The two old friends continued to stare at each other, both dismayed at what they were seeing.

* * *

The rest of the meeting took three hours. Countless contingencies were discussed, battle strategies shared, ship assignments and promotions sorted. Caila participated where necessary, but absolutely refused to look Revan in the eye. There was no more drama, just business. When all was said and done, people began leaving the meeting, finally leaving just Caila, Malak and Revan. The larger man looked between the two, sensed the tension, and made a quick exit, leaving the two Jedi standing at opposite sides of the room.

"You questioned me," Revan said softly. He took off his mask with a deep sigh, collapsing back into his chair; he hadn't sat in the thing for two hours. "Why, Kay? Why? Can you tell me why?"

A thousand replies bounced around her head at that moment, and Caila hedged by leaning onto the desk, her hands clenched, head lowered. "Honestly," she said quietly, "I'm not sure any more. Do…do you even know what you did back then?"

When Revan didn't immediately respond, she raised her head, and got her first good look at his face in over a year. What she saw scared the hell out of her. His skin, once beautifully pale, now looked almost grey. His brown hair, which Revan had once allowed to grow in a long and lustrous ponytail, was cut brutally short. There were even lines beneath his eyes, the kind of lines people shouldn't get until they were three times his age. His eyes were their proper warm amber, at the very least, not the horrible sickly yellow Caila had thought she'd seen earlier, but there was a terrible sadness in those eyes. A sadness which made her own grief yesterday look pathetic by comparison. He allowed her to examine his features, regarding her evenly.

"Rev…" she whispered. "I…"

"It's nothing," he said in reply. For the first time fatigue infected his voice, sounding utterly out of place coming from someone so vibrant. "A side effect of…exhaustive…Force use. It'll pass."

"I wasn't talking about your face," she said, forgetting that she hadn't actually said anything. Without another word she strode around the table, bent down and hugged him. A small part of her noted how bizarre this was, but she didn't care. Through the Force Caila dropped her mental shields, letting her sympathy, compassion, even love shine through, as pure as she'd ever felt them. Revan froze for a moment where he sat before awkwardly putting his arms around her, muttering senselessly under his breath.

After a long few seconds had passed, Caila let go. She erected her mental shields once more, smiling weakly at the broken man before her. "Sorry."

"No." Revan shook his head. "I'm the one who should be apologising. I was pressuring you earlier, wasn't I? When you protested? I was influencing you." When Caila nodded, he closed his eyes briefly. "Slimed Hutts…if everybody knew what it was like to be this powerful, they wouldn't be so bloody envious all the time."

Caila blinked rapidly in response, disbelieving. "You mean…that was unintentional?" When he nodded, she smiled again. "Well…no harm done. Just-"

"-remember that power is both a tool and a curse, as likely to wound as to heal, and more than likely to lead you down the dark path," Revan finished. He grinned. "Vrook taught me too, ya know. I've got his sayings burned into my brain."

"While we're on the subject of Jedi teachings…" Caila let her voice drop dramatically, mischief erupting within her. Revan took the opportunity to take a gulp of water from Malak's unused bottle. "How long have you been screwing Captain Neral?"

At this the Supreme Commander of the Republic Army snorted water out his nose, and then continued snorting as he choked on it. Caila laughed for what felt like the first time in years, thoroughly enjoying her victory, doubling over with her merriment as he rubbed his eyes. When he'd regained control of himself he scowled at her. "How long have you known? There is no way you sensed anything from me earlier, I was strictly professional…"

"…but she wasn't," Caila replied with a grin. "Bad luck for you. When we were in the corridor earlier, she was thinking of the reverse tauntaun-"

"No, she damned well wasn't," Revan interrupted, blushing madly. In an attempt to regain some dignity, he added "At no point in the Jedi Code does it expressly forbid…er…casual…"

"Sex," Caila supplied with a smirk.

"Sex," Revan said with a scowl, blushing even more. "It forbids attachments, such as personal relationships and marriage, but not…sex. That's purely physical, and completely natural."

"If it's any comfort," Caila said, her grin settling, "I agree. Haven't tested it myself yet, but I appreciate the reasoning. Good luck explaining it to the Council though."

"Yes, well," Revan muttered, clearing his throat. "Anyway…there is something I need to talk to you about."

"Does it have to do with why I've been given command of a space engagement that a half dozen admirals are better suited for?" she asked drily.

"Well…yes," Revan said, nodding. He was back to business now. "Although there are perfectly valid strategic reasons for that as well. Historically Mandalore has targeted flagships in large fleet engagements, aiming to cut off the command and communications of our forces. He'll have no idea that you are directing the battle, especially when you've been on Dxun for four months. He'll aim for the high ranking admirals in their fancy battleships so you can manage things without your ship blowing up around you. That's not all of it, though." Leaning forward, he pulled a datachip from his pocket. "Tell me. Have you ever heard of the Mass Shadow Generator?"


	6. Chapter 6

Caila closed her eyes in response to Revan's question. With a sudden weariness she pulled herself up upon the table, letting her legs dangle off the edge. "So it's going to be like that," she muttered.

Revan winced. "I figured you'd be more open minded. It's your man who invented it."

"My man," she replied, shaking her head. It was true enough. Bao-Dur had served with her on a half dozen battlefields, both in space and planetside, although they'd only learned each other's names on Dxun. He'd discussed the Mass Shadow Generator with her on Dxun, in fact, while they were both standing sentry. But if Revan knew about him and his invention, then Bao-Dur gone over her head, and the betrayal stung.

Reading her expression, Revan's eyes widened. "Oh stars…he didn't get your permission, did he? I assumed…I mean he…" Shaking his head, Caila's old friend looked thoroughly miserable. "Hundreds of Jedi, two hundred thousand troops, and you're the one I keep insulting, the one who's done more for me than anyone. I'm sorry, Kay."

She shrugged in response. "Just get to it. I know you have a plan, and you expect me to pull it off."

"Well…yeah," he said slowly. He glanced at the starmap which still showed a detailed map of the Malachor system. "If we try to fight the Mandalorians all out, like everyone thinks we will, it'll be a massacre. We'd probably win, but…"

"…but there wouldn't be much left of us," Caila finished. She'd already come to the same conclusion. "And you think the MSG will do it for us?"

He didn't reply for a long moment, simply gazing at the starmap. "If we do it right…yes. It'll be delicate, but if we can get them within Malachor's gravitational influence, they're toast. They won't be in the best frame in mind, remember. Mandalore dead, my betraying the truce afterwards. Plus there's Malachor itself."

This completely threw Caila. She had been sitting back on her hands, almost lying back on the large table, but now she reluctantly sat up straight. Revan grinned up at her. "Remember when we were kids and you argued with me about how I was always in the Archives? Well, it paid off. That place is a big thing in the Mandalorian cultural consciousness. The records are pretty vague about why, and I doubt even the Mandos know exactly, but I think something happened to them there, millennia ago. They lived there once, until a group of Force users-Sith, I think-beat them. Humiliated them. Denied them an honourable battle, assassinated the Mandalore at the time, tortured and massacred their younglings…you get the idea. The ones who did it built a bunch of temples and academies there afterwards. Believe me, if the Mandalorians are scared of any planet, it's that one."

Caila nodded slowly as he explained. It made sense, and there was a certain irony to using the Sith as a weapon. She'd never met a Sith personally, but had known many Jedi who'd fought against Exar Kun, the Sith Lord who had crusaded against the Republic decades ago. Kavar in particular had been scarred by that conflict. She'd been his Padawan for twelve years, and a dark shadow had crossed his face whenever she'd asked about it.

"More importantly, I'm giving you personal control of the Generator. You'll decide when it detonates. Bao-Dur and his technicians have already begun hardening your ship's comn network so you can break through any jamming the Mandos through at us. Just remember to do it when you can inflict maximum casualties. Try and get your forces out of the area when it goes off, and make sure-"

He stopped as Caila placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling gently. "I know, Rev. I've got this." The look on his face was a prize; worry, mixed with such open gratitude that her heart ached. There was something else there, something deeper, but it was too well concealed. Revan placed a hand over hers, smiled once more, then got up and left the room.

* * *

The preparations for the upcoming battle took weeks. Moving hundreds of warships on an extended deployment was a serious exercise in logistics after all, no matter how brilliant the man organising it. Another factor was sheer distance; Dxun and Onderon were on the outer edge of the Mid Rim, near the frontier of Republic space, while Malachor was clear beyond the Outer Rim. Even after the Fleet left Onderon they still had to proceed cautiously, scouting each sector carefully before moving through. Occasionally a report would come through of some Mandalorian skirmishers, but they didn't stay long.

Finally, the moment had come. The _Saviour_'s bridge was busier than normal. The ship had been in hyperspace for five days straight, and in those five days, the shipboard rumour mill had gone wild about Malachor. One of the more popular theories was that it was the long-forgotten Mandalorian homeworld; another stated (with an amusing degree of confidence) that it was actually the _Sith_ homeworld, that Exar Kun had been manipulating the entire war for his own purposes from there, and Revan was going to fight him. Caila's favourite, however, was simply brilliant. It explained that Malachor was an ancient Republic outpost, maintained in absolute secrecy by a faction of the Jedi Order. A faction comprised entirely of scantily clad, sexually promiscuous Jedi Knights.

_If only_, she thought with a smile to herself. The image of Malak wearing nothing but a tight pair of swimming trunks was her favourite memory from their mission to Dac, long before the war. She missed those times. Then she frowned to herself. Since when had she started thinking of him with that name?

As the _Saviour_ came out of hyperspace, the crew got a full eyeful of Malachor V. It was a pretty average planet, really. Not as absolutely green as Dxun, with a more even spread of greys, browns and whites. Not much blue, though.

Captain Nao's attention, however, was on her ship sensors. "No sign of technic civilisation General," she reported with a fine military crispness. "No sign of any ships in-system. The fleet has left hyperspace with 100% formation cohesion."

Caila contemplated the planet for a moment before before responding. "Tell the fleet to assemble into a geostationary orbit. Standard formation. Get the blockade runners on picket duty." She glanced behind her at Bao-Dur who nodded in silent reply. He got to work ordering his team into position on the planet's surface, where they'd set up the machine. The very thought of the thing-the _weapon_, she chided herself-gave her goosebumps.

For that matter…so did the planet. At first, when she'd felt out the planet, it seemed pretty normal; the usual chaotic amalgam of wildlife, a mixture of primordial pain and joy. As the fleet got closer, however, Caila became aware of something else. Something deeper, beneath the surface. Even as Caila began to probe, extending her senses, the submerged object seemed to withdraw beyond her sight. However, there was no doubt about what it was. The Dark Side was strong with place. More subtle than Dxun had been, certainly, but stronger by far. She shivered.

The view outside helped. Around her were hundreds of Republic starships bearing their red and blue colours proudly, crewed by tens of thousands of beings. Of equal comfort were the hundreds of Jedi Knights with them, many of them dear friends, all of them brothers and sisters. The Order was flawed, certainly, but they were a family more than an organisation.

The thought actually started to make her nervous. There were dozens of Masters amongst her fleet, serving under her command. Some of them had only just joined the war effort, disobeying the Council's edict. Their strength in the Force far surpassed her own; she could sense some of the strongest even from many kilometers away. Some of them had taught her as a child.

Her fellow Jedi sensed her nervousness and sent back waves of comfort and confidence. They trusted her. All she needed to do was trust herself.

* * *

Two days later, as Caila walked to her cabin to catch a quick nap, Bao-Dur found her in a corridor. He didn't say a word, but his expression said it all; the barrel-chested Iridonian was as nervous as she was. He saluted smartly, handed her a datapad, and stood at stiff attention.

Caila's return salute froze in mid air as she read the datapad's contents. The Mass Shadow Generator was ready. Amidst a list of technical details that went straight over head, Bao-Dur had added a postscript.

"_General, as you can see, I have managed to enhance the effectiveness of the weapon by 220% of the original estimate. We can activate it at any time. Anything caught within ten thousand kilometres of Malachor's surface will be destroyed. Just give the word."_

She didn't say anything, painfully conscious of the secrecy surrounding this. Instead she finished her salute, nodded, and strode back to the bridge, the nap forgotten. As she walked, the nerves made a vengeful return. Suddenly, this whole thing felt more…_real_. The various soldiers and crewmen around her were just as nervous, their minds over-active with worry. Idly, as she continued walking, Caila wondered how many Jedi had detonated superweapons in the history of the Order.

The answer chilled her to the bone.

* * *

Five days after they'd arrived, the time had come. Revan's forces were only an hour away from arriving in the Galor system for their fateful battle and it was only an hour or so of hyperspace travel between Galor and Malachor. Counting the time Revan would be presumably fighting Mandalore, Caila's forces expected battle in four hours time.

She arrived on the bridge early that morning, a cup of steaming hot caf in hand. Nao was there too, peering intently over a crewman's shoulder, and greeted Caila only in passing. At the back of the bridge on the port side was a specially adapted little cove from which Caila could direct the battle. A hologram displayed a real time three-dimensional image of Malachor V, centered on the Republic fleet. Around the hologram stood three officers; two aides and Bao-Dur. He bore his Army uniform uncomfortably around all the Navy crewmen, but focused on his work nevertheless.

"General," he greeted her in his usual husky tone. The other two officers greeted her more casually, smiling. The three of them had been practising hard for the last few weeks, preparing for the upcoming conflict, simulating countless scenarios. Revan had been insistent on this point back at Dxun, when they'd planned this whole thing; she and her two aides had to be absolutely ready.

In practice, the command structure of the fleet was relatively simple. When Revan's forces arrived, he would take over overall command of all Republic forces in-system, with Fleet Admiral Karath and Malak assisting him. However, while he would technically be in charge, Revan had given her a great deal of autonomy to do as she wished with her own forces. She was the one who would draw the Mandalorians into the trap, and most important of all, the one who would decide when to activate the generator.

"No pressure," he had quipped in one of their many discussions. Her response had been a punch.

All that was left now was to wait. As the chrono slowly ticked, she could feel the steadily building increase in fear and anxiety rising around her. The Force grew heavy in anticipation. Through it, Caila could feel her fellow Jedi preparing themselves, submerging within the Force.

Then it happened.


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of the alarms made Caila jump. She cursed herself for her jumpiness even as the crew reacted, and then she belatedly realised what the alarms were. Only one thing could trigger that rising wail.

Hyperspace entry.

One of her aides, a human lieutenant, glanced at the hologram's timecode with a frown. "The hell…Revan should've only just got there. Did he get there early, or…"

Caila didn't respond, simply staring hard at the hologram. In fuzzy detail it showed the hundreds of Republic warships still in orbit of Malachor spread out in a simple square across the surface, their bows aimed outward, away from the planet. After a few moments, the hologram flickered as the sensors found something new.

Rather than the familiar green that indicated a Republic ship, however, the indicators that came up were red.

In an instant the alarms changed their tune. All over the fleet, people began rushing to their stations. Munitions were loaded, energy shields raised, and pilots sprinted for their starfighters. The fighters currently patrolling immediately turned towards the threat, putting themselves right in front of the Republic ships.

Caila watched all of this in a state of shock, her mind frozen. This was impossible. It was too early, too _soon_, and Revan's ships were supposed to have arrived first. Still in a fugue she tried counting the red symbols, gave up, then glanced down at her console for the number.

Two hundred eighty four.

"By the stars…" she whispered, eyes wide. One of her aides turned to her, just as shocked. "General…that's…that's almost all of them. The entire Mando war fleet. I don't…"

Somehow the man's panic calmed her. Again Caila examined the hologram, but this time with a clinical eye. "Where's Mandalore's flagship? His clan's squadron?"

The other aide, a tall Cerean, answered. "Not there, General. Probably still at Galor. Given that we haven't received any communication from Revan's fleet, it's likely he's engaged Mandalore and is being jammed."

That would be a short battle. Revan outnumbered the remaining Mandalorians twelve to one. Not that it mattered any more.

The hologram flickered again. It showed thousands of Basilisk fighters emerging from the Mandalorian ships, which were themselves accelerating. Caila's opposite number had seemingly hesitated, just as she had, but had recovered upon seeing what had to be the Mandalorians' dearest dream. Their technology and ship design were decades ahead of the Republic's, their crews more disciplined and better trained. On a good day, the Republic had to have twice as many ships as the Mandos to stand on an even footing. This wasn't even close; Caila's fleet had barely three hundred. Worse, Revan had taken many of the larger battleships with him to Galor, leaving Caila with mostly smaller cruisers and frigates. The original battleplan had called for manoeuvrability, but that was irrelevant now.

She shook herself from her fugue. The two aides and Bao-Dur were waiting for her orders, and by extension, so was everybody else.

"Have all ships open fire the moment the enemy gets within range. Starfighters to hang back and protect our capital ships."

There. That would do for now, until she could come up with an actual strategy. She glared at the Mandalorians; they'd come out of hyperspace in a typical column, with smaller ships surrounding the larger ones. In his bloodlust the Mando fleet commander hadn't bothered to reform into a more appropriate attack formation and was simply flying right at the solid wall of Republic ships.

His mistake.

"The moment they get within…" she paused, ran some numbers, and continued "fifty kilometres, begin an englobement. All perimeter battlegroups will advance past the Mandos then turn around. We'll trap them against the gravity well." _And the Mass Shadow Generator_, she thought grimly. Although how the hell she'd get her ships out of the target area was beyond her.

In an instant, the great turbolasers from both sides opened fire. However, the Mandalorians were at a horrible disadvantage and they knew it; the column formation prevented most of their ships from firing, while the Republic wall gave them a perfect vantage point. Countless turbolaser bolts fell upon the Mandalorian battleships leading their fleet, turning them to molten slag in seconds. Then the next ships fell, then the next, but with each passing second the Mandalorian ships got closer and closer. Tiny Basilisk fighters closed the gulf between the two fleets far more quickly, while the Republic starfighters moved to intercept. A sharp pain took Caila's breath away as the fighter duels began; the first Jedi casualty of the day.

As she and her aides watched the Mandalorian charge, she gave new orders. "Assign four Hammerhead squadrons each to the _Savage_, _Ravager_, _Victory_, _Heart of Glory_ and _Memory of Ossus_. Tell them to stay with those ships and destroy anything that gets close." Those five ships were her only battleships, great triangular behemoths that could stand toe to toe with any Mandalorian vessel. They were also outnumbered ten to one by the Mandalorians' own battleships, and Caila needed her big brutes to stay alive.

Finally, as the Mandalorians got closer and closer, the Republic ships began moving. Caila could feel the deck vibrating beneath her feet as the _Saviour_ began moving in conjunction with a hundred of her sister ships, accelerating out past and around the Mandalorian column. Turbolaser fire blasted the Republic ships as they passed, but it was only lasted until the hundred cruisers had swung around the column. As they rotated to bring to bear their gigantic main armament, the Mandalorians reached the rest of the waiting Republic fleet.

The destruction was immense. Caila winced as waves of death assaulted her, hundreds and thousands of beings dying simultaneously. Every so often a Jedi would fall, and the Force seemed to cry out in agony. The hologram was of little use now. The Mandalorian and Republic fleets were enmeshed in an almighty melee, formations and battle lines forgotten. The computer could still just about make out the Republic battleships; with their Hammerhead escorts they ploughed through the Mandalorians without mercy. Even as she hurt, pride filled Caila's heart at how hard they fought, how brilliantly they flew, how bravely they died. Entire squadrons of Jedi starfighters met the Basilisks on an even footing, shredding the superior craft with a combination of the Force, raw talent, and open disregard for their own lives.

Caila's englobement had worked. A hundred of her Hammerheads were spread out around the melee, their massive guns taking potshots wherever they could. Any Mandalorian ship that tried to run, either because of damage or cowardice, was annihilated. That was the one saving grace of the _Hammerhead_-class ships; their oversized forward-facing turbolasers were devastating.

The slaughter continued. Wrecks and debris floated aimlessly throughout the battlespace, destroying as many fighters as enemy fire. The night sky of Malachor was lit up as the same wrecks and debris began falling through the atmosphere, the heat of entry incinerating them.

Bao-Dur twitched beside her, but Caila didn't need him to explain. The Mass Shadow Generator was down there, on the planet's surface, and a single meteor could destroy both it and the fleet's chances of survival.

Glancing up at her aides, the Cerean officer answered without her saying a word. "Just received a communiqué from Revan, General. Says that he has killed Mandalore and is coming. Fifty minutes."

Fifty minutes too late. Caila desperately searched the hologram, trying to find a solution, _any _solution. Activating the MSG now would cause cataclysmic casualties. She couldn't. As she dithered, she watched the green symbol representing the _Heart of Glory _disappear. Caila looked out of the bridge viewport just in time to see the immense battleship ram bow first into a Mandalorian dreadnought. Their mutual destruction consumed a half dozen ships nearby and wrecked twenty others. Caila had to resist the urge to cry out when she felt Bray, her dormmate and friend since they'd been toddlers, die a fiery and agonising death.

Enough. She clenched the console tightly, and her breathing hitched. Enough. With resolve she hadn't even known she possessed, Caila stood tall, her hands slowly releasing the console to be put behind her back. The conclusion, the solution, shone in her mind with a horrible light. The _Saviour_ and a hundred other _Hammerheads_ were safe, outside the range of the Mass Shadow Generator…but the Mandalorians weren't. With excessive deliberance, knowing the terrible thing that she was about to do…she nodded at Bao-Dur.

The next moment was silent. That was the only way to describe it. In an instant, everything seemed to stop; sight, sound, smell, touch. Even the Force itself reacted, seemingly freezing in reaction. Then it began. Not slowly, or gently, but quickly, savagely. The entire mass of the planet contracted upon itself, the very crust of the world splintering under the stress. The hundreds of ships suddenly stopped their fighting. It was impossible. Everything was suddenly a hundred times as heavy. Then, in the next moment, the full consequences of that hit home.

In one second, one horrible, terrible second, five hundred thousand living beings died.

And Caila screamed.


	8. Chapter 8

Darkness was everywhere.

She was unsure of anything in that moment. Where she was, what was happening, or even her name. There was nothing to see, no sounds to be heard, nothing to be touched. All that there was was darkness. Pure, impenetrable, and utterly beautiful darkness.

She wasn't why it was beautiful, but it didn't matter. It simply was. As time passed (seconds? Minutes?), she began to sense complexity within the darkness, and that simply made it more wondrous. Hate, anger, lust, pain, all expressed in infinite combinations. There was love there too, twisted and contorted. And beyond that, beyond all of it, was sheer and unlimited _power_. More power than she'd ever known. A part of longed for it, keened for it, desired it desperately, wanting it for its own sake. But more than any of that…

_Fear_.

She felt afraid. The darkness was beautiful, but…terrible, at the same time. Deep within her, separate from the dark, other emotions stirred. Kindness, empathy, humour. Happiness. Love, true and pure. Against the vast darkness they were insignificant, but their presence was unavoidable nevertheless, a miniscule light. It gave contrast. With that light, she could see the dark in its true form…

…and she was terrified. Beyond fear. Beyond terror. Her very soul tore to get away from this…this _thing_, this awful power. It reached out to consume her, but she fled, further and further, not caring where she went. Escape seemed impossible, but she didn't care. The darkness got closer and closer, but she didn't let it touch her. Instead, with will she hadn't known she possessed, she cut herself off from the dark, hammering her will between herself and the oncoming storm. She knew that the light was there too, and that genuinely _was _beautiful, but her terror and panic were total, consuming every fibre of her being.

Then, with a final desperate act of violence, she cut herself off from the darkness, the light, and everything else. Agony, total and complete, cupped her soul within its embrace, slashing at her heart. As Caila waited to fall into unconsciousness, sure that the pain was too much and would inevitably end, the horrible truth hit her.

She already was unconscious.

And the pain wasn't ending.

* * *

It was three days before Caila stopped screaming. The doctors gave her sedatives, but her subconscious Jedi conditioning and heightened metabolism countered them instantly. They tried to talk to her, but found no reply besides unintelligble screams. When her voice began to quieten, her throat damaged from overuse, they were forced to heal it. They eventually stripped her naked and put her in a kolto tank out of sheer desperation, but the screaming continued. When the Jedi healers came, they looked upon her with horror and left without a word.

When she eventually fell silent, they took it as a sign of hope. They fed her, put her to bed in her quarters under constant watch and waited patiently for her to wake. Then, on the fifth day, she did.

* * *

On that particular day, it was the ship's chief physician who was with her. The _Saviour_ had taken only light damage and few casualties during the battle, so he had the time. As the doctor read his novella, he heard the sound of her movement, and realised the General's eyes were open. Smothering his excitement he calmly and professionally checked her vitals, noted her pulse indicated consciousness, and sighed with relief.

"General? Can you hear me?"

No answer.

"General? If you can hear me, just blink. Can you blink, General?"

She did. Then she sat up abruptly. Her movements were off, almost droid-like; her expression was utterly empty. The doctor opened his mouth to say more but she merely glanced at him, and the look in her eyes kept him silent. Understanding her unspoken wish, he left.

As she dressed in her Navy uniform, Caila didn't try to think. Thought was a bit too much to handle right now. A single face hung in her mind, a haunted and wounded man grinning. She needed to get to him.

It was a subconscious reflex that caused her to grab her lightsaber from the bedside table, and almost a minute to attach it to her belt. Her movements were clumsy now. Without doing anything else, she strode out into the corridor, boots clicking loudly upon the durasteel deck. Various people tried to talk to her but she ignored them. An Iridonian was particularly persistent, but left her when she got to the landing bay.

The rank on her uniform meant nobody protested when she entered a shuttle. With purely automatic movements she ran a pre-flight sequence, turned off the comn, and launched.

A great mass of ships surrounded the _Saviour_. Caila was overwhelmed for a moment, not used to the sight of so many. She flew the shuttle around the _Saviour_'s bulk, trying to get a glimpse, and found it. The great dreadnought was closer than she'd thought. She sent a docking request through to the _Wrath of Coruscant_ via text, and received an immediate affirmation.

The docking went quicker then she'd hoped, as did her walk through the massive warship. She'd been on the vessel once before, and knew the way. Nobody tried talking to her on this ship. The one Jedi she met on the way hurriedly changed direction upon seeing her, her handsome Rodian features distorted by disgust.

The doors to the Supreme Commander's office opened soundlessly, as she knew they would. Caila stepped inside quickly, letting the door close behind her. He was there of course, mask on his desk, carefully reading through a document. It took him a long moment for Revan to realise he was not alone, and he looked up in astonishment.

"Kay," he said in surprise. "I didn't sense you come in…or come aboard. I've been meaning to visit, but…" He stopped. With a confused look, he walked around his desk and stepped right up to her. They were more or less the same height, but an unconscious slouch put her beneath him, and he looked down at her with outright shock. "Stars…Malak told me, but I didn't…" he stopped again. Gently he placed a hand under her cheek and raised her face, looking deep into her eyes. "Kay…you were so beautiful."

The words provoked a response within her. Shame. It was a timid burn compared to the last few days, but it hurt all the same. Revan must've seen-or sensed-her thoughts, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Damn it. Damn it. Every Jedi who was there turned, every single bloody one but you. Instead you…you…" he shook with silent fury, and lowered his hand into a clenched fist. "I should never have made you give the order. Malak could've done it, it wouldn't have…he wouldn't have broke."

Another feeling came now. Weakness. She felt unworthy. It was odd, really. Without the Force, Revan seemed…wrong. Enthused with power and authority, but lacking the merciless compassion he'd always bore. He seemed unworthy too, compared to her memories, but maybe that was normal. Maybe that's what he looked like to the Force-blind. Maybe it was just her, having lost it.

Shaking his head, Revan stepped back. "I'm taking the fleet into the Unknown Regions to…to hunt down the last Mandalorians. A few escaped. You…you could come with me, but-"

"I'm going back to Coruscant," Caila said for the first time. Her voice sounded thin and reedy, but that was to be expected. "Going to face the Council. I did it. I have to pay for it."

"You've already paid enough," he said in reply. There was no sympathy in his tone, though, or his eyes. His yellow eyes. "Too much. I could've used you. It's…a great shame. But maybe the Council can help you." His eyes gave lie to the words. They both knew that this was far beyond the Council's ability to heal-probably beyond anyone's. "Captain Nao is being transferred to my ship. I'll give you somebody competent to replace her for the trip home. You'll lead a flotilla back to the Republic with all of our wounded and damaged ships. Admiral Jendor'tau and General Jinn will be there to help with the day to day tasks of running the flotilla until you get back to the Core Worlds."

His words were short, sharp, and efficient. Something about them, or maybe his tone, sounded strange. Like he was disappointed. Disgusted. Ashamed. Caila felt the words hit, but at this point, there was nothing left to injure.

With one last searching look, Revan turned and returned to his work. Knowing a dismissal when she saw one, Caila turned to leave, and so nearly missed his parting words. "You were a great Jedi once," he whispered, almost to himself. "A great woman…my girl. Goodbye."


	9. Chapter 9

The next few months passed without incident. Indeed, they passed almost without Caila's notice. A newly promoted captain took over the _Saviour_, the former protégé of Admiral Karath, and he was kind enough to leave her alone. As promised there was very little for Caila to do on the return trip, as the general and admiral who'd returned with her took care of matters. The flotilla stopped at several words on the way home; Taris, Telos, Ord Mantell, Corellia. At each stop, several ships left. The new captain of the _Saviour_ had meant to leave at Telos, but privately told her he would take a transport from Coruscant once they arrived there. Caila recognised the act of kindness and thanked him.

That was one thing that had changed. Over those few months, some semblance of herself returned. Her apathy, which had held her in a vice grip after the battle, faded over time. The Force was a different story, however. If anything, it grew more and more distant. Sometimes Caila thought she could sense something, some echo, but it never lasted, and every time it happened she was left with a horrible headache in addition to a crushing fatigue. Nothing compared to Malachor, though. Nothing could compare to that.

When the _Saviour_ arrived at Coruscant, Caila had regained enough presence of mind to again thank the captain who'd stayed with her before leaving. He shrugged it off. It was only then that she'd noticed the haunted look in his own eyes, understood, and said her goodbyes.

The Jedi Temple was much as she remembered. Its five spires rose as majestically as ever in the Coruscanti dusk, the stone reflecting the sunlight with a golden hue with the other side darkened. She flew the shuttle alone, of course. Only Jedi were permitted within the Temple walls, and she was the only one to return. Everybody else had continued following Revan.

The walk from the landing bay to the High Council Chambers was a disquieting one however. Every single Jedi she met regarded her with an open look of horror, as if she were diseased. Caila assumed this had something to do with the loss of her connection to the Force and ignored them. Ironic. Before Malachor she'd spoken often, sometimes too much, and had been constantly scolded by the Masters to control her tongue. Now she rarely said a word.

Two teenage Padawans stood guard outside the Council Chambers and regarded her passively as she approached, only slightly winded by the stairs. They bowed respectfully as she passed, but Caila didn't need the Force to see what they were feeling. The two boys were terrified of her, not disgusted as the other Jedi had been.

The doors opened to the central chamber with their usual creak. It was a rather impressive room, all told. The red, blue and white of the Republic covered the floor in an elegant pattern, and the wide windows provided a spectacular view of the city world beneath. Twelve comfortable chairs surrounded the room, and an ancient centre-stone completed the set. The stone, battered and whittled by age, was meant to represent the Force, with the Masters gazing upon it. Caila remembered feeling its history and its power in previous sessions with the Council but now, the stone looked exactly like what it was: a really old rock.

The Masters, unlike the hundreds of Jedi in the Temple below, kept their expressions carefully neutral. Vrook was the first to speak, seated to her left.

"Do you know why we have called you here?"

The presumption within his tone, the sheer bloody _arrogance_ of it, ignited a fire within Caila. She straightened, eyes tightening with indignation, but resolutely refused to look anywhere but the rock.

"I came because I chose to," she said very, very quietly. "Not because you summoned me."

Kavar was next, his voice just as merciless and officious as Vrook's. "As Revan summoned you, so have you come full circle to return to the Jedi."

"Why did you defy us?" Kai-El continued, his tone as demanding as she'd ever heard from the man. "The Jedi are guardians of the peace, and have been for centuries. This call to war undermines all that we have worked for."

Atris continued now in what was increasingly feeling like an ambush. "Is Revan your Master now?" she asked, accusation filling her voice. "Or is it the horror you wrought at Malachor that caused you to see the truth at last?"

The truth. Caila seethed. Hundreds of Jedi dead, hundreds of thousands of people along with them, and the Council hadn't changed a bit. "The truth is that the Mandalorians had to be stopped," she said, anger overriding her control, "or countless more would have died."

"You refuse to hear us." Kai-El's voice was sad, but certain. "You have shut us out, and so have shut yourself to the galaxy."

Then Vash finished it. "You are exiled, and a Jedi no longer."

Silence reigned. Caila froze, her mind numb. Exile. Actual…she said _exile_. The very concept was wrong, alien. She hadn't even known a Jedi to be exiled in…forever. Incredulous, Caila looked around the Chamber, certain that there was some mistake, that Vash had meant something else.

There was no mistake. Each and every Master looked upon her with complete and utter solemnity. Atris still looked quietly furious; Kai-El, sad. Kavar, the closest thing to a father she'd ever known…nothing. His face was blank. And even without the Force, Caila knew that meant he was hurting more than could ever be expressed.

After the silence had passed, Vrook's voice said the only thing that could hurt her more. "There is one last thing. Your lightsaber. Surrender it to us."

For a brief moment, she considered simply refusing. The lightsaber at her hip was the only object she owned. It was as much a work of art as a weapon, a summation of twenty years of life. Kavar had watched her make it, gave her the design for the unique double-bladed variant, even travelled with her to Ilum to get the crystals. Caila had used this weapon when she won the Apprentice Tournament at the age of eleven, beating Revan in the process. She'd used it during her Trials to become a Knight. She'd used it on Dxun, and it had been with her at Malachor.

Fresh fury rose within Caila, and this time she did nothing to hide it. In one fluid motion she drew and activated the weapon, the violet blades coming from both ends of the hilt, and with an expert twist she stabbed it into the centerstone, thrusting the hilt halfway into the newly formed hole. The Masters didn't react in the slightest. Deactivating the lightsaber, she turned with a swirl of her robes and stormed out of the Council Chamber. They hadn't dismissed her, but Caila no longer gave a damn. The Council-hell, the entire _Order_ could burn for all she cared.

* * *

It was only when she was halfway down the circular staircase that the reality of the situation kicked in. Vash's words burned, even minutes after they'd been spoken: _You are exiled, and a Jedi no longer._ They were also incontrovertible. Exile was the most extreme sentence that could be passed upon a Jedi Knight, worse than anything they could deliver besides severing one's connection to the Force...and that, she thought angrily, was only because it hadn't been an option. She could count on one hand the number of times they'd exiled someone in the last millennium, and even then…to ask for her lightsaber? That wasn't a normal part of the sentence, and the insult stung.

There was no point going to the landing bay. She was no longer a Jedi, and so no longer authorised to fly a Jedi ship. With her Jedi status also went her rank with the Republic military, so the shuttle she'd used to come down from the _Saviour_ was a bust. That realisation hurt almost as much as the loss of her lightsaber; she'd _earned_ that commission.

With a heavy heart, Caila turned towards the great entrance of the Jedi Temple. It was the only part of the great structure that fed directly onto the streets of Coruscant. Ten thousand steps, rarely travelled, that led down to a dedicated hovercar station. She knew the rest of the procedure for exile from her lessons as a child, and reviewed it all sullenly as she walked.

The Order would do two things for her. Had to, by their own laws; the Council couldn't worm out of _that_. First they'd finance her transport out of Republic territory. It wouldn't be aboard a Republic or Jedi ship; they'd simply put her on one of those big passenger ferries, ostensibly to prepare her for life beyond the Order. Second, a Jedi would greet her on the outer edge of Republic territory and give her some credits, an ID, and a detailed map of the Outer Rim.

And that was it.

Caila knew that somewhere out there was Revan. His fleet would be far beyond Republic territory right now, and he certainly wouldn't care about the Order. Hell, he'd probably charge straight back to Coruscant to protest. However the thought of seeing another Jedi, even Revan, felt suddenly repulsive, and the thought chilled her as she strode out into the cold Coruscanti night and began descending down the steps. No, more than that. Even the thought of the Republic itself tasted wrong on her tongue.

Exile.

No longer caring about the chill, she tore off the brown cloak, leaving it on the Great Steps. Before the eyes of the ancient Masters who flanked the steps, their huge stone eyes beholding her coldly, she ripped off the utility belt and threw it out into the wind. With a final vindictive movement she ripped off the tunic and robes, relishing the freedom. There. Now all she wore was an undershirt, a pair of form-fitting shorts and boots, all bought from Republic military surplus with her own salary. Fury, passion and grief filling her in equal measure, Caila then left the Jedi Order.

* * *

The cantina where she ended up eight months later was dingy, cheap, and dark. Caila didn't remember the name of the world, nor cared. It was her third planet in as many weeks. The substantial sum of credits she'd been given was fading fast, but she didn't bother saving them. The little chips were Republic-issue, specially stamped with the sword of the Jedi Order, and she was spending them as fast as she could.

The drinks had only a mild effect on her constitution nowadays. Without the Force she could no longer regulate her body as she once could, and could no longer control her body's automatic responses; it metabolised the alcohol too damn quickly. The ale on this planet was especially poor, and didn't work well enough to counter her subconscious Jedi conditioning for more than an hour or so. Caila was distantly aware of other things, stims and such, but that was beyond her knowledge.

"Hey, beautiful." The voice was rough, but nice enough. Caila ignored him, downing another glass and relishing the burn in her throat.

"You're tough, beautiful. Never seen anyone handle Derallian whiskey like _that_. Sure you don't want to take a break? Find something new?"

The words were attractive. Caila turned slowly, and beheld the man neutrally. He was old, older than her, although still in good shape, silver only just touching his hair. The flight suit was ruffled but unmistakable. He grinned as he let her examine him, and casually put a well-muscled arm on the bar. Very good shape.

"I've got this idea," he continued, taking her silence as a good sign. "More than beautiful, more than tough, you look smart. Capable. Now I know a good catch when I see her. I need a crewmate for a deep scouting run to the Regions and you-"

"Is it for the Republic?" Caila interrupted suddenly. The captain shook his head, surprised by the question.

"Hell no, the Republic can burn. So can the bloody Empire. This is just for a few people wanting a fresh start. Now, I won't lie. My ship ain't pretty, and she ain't big, but she's good enough for two. The run shouldn't take more than a few months."

The words sounded pretty indeed. She regarded him carefully, the drunkenness causing her eyes to water as they so often did. This was new. Different. She couldn't keep going as it was; she'd end up on the streets once the credits ran out. Or working as a gang enforcer, or a merc. Neither option was particularly appealing. This ship captain was smart enough to know she was a good shipmate just from looks, and the nearly invisible scars attested to a man who could handle himself.

"I accept," Caila said suddenly. With a sudden movement she stood up, nearly knocking the stool over as she did so. Dropping a generous tip on the bar she added "And I think we should get going. Right now."

The captain stood as well, but his expression was guarded. "I'm not due to launch for ten hours. Not gonna-"

"Not what I meant." With a violent need she wrapped her arms around the tall man's neck and kissed him roughly. It was strange, new, but he didn't seem to mind her inexperience as he responded in kind. With a roguish smile he pushed her away, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out of the cantina.

Containing their mutual need until they reached the ship was difficult, but they managed. He hadn't lied, either. The ship was an ugly beast, just an oversized engine, a cockpit and a cabin inbetween. She didn't care. The moment they got up the ramp below the cockpit they started tearing at each other's clothes; they didn't reach the cabin.

As he savagely threw her down upon the deck and began busying himself in her bare breasts, an image flickered in her mind. A wounded and tired man, snorting water out of his nose and laughter in his eyes. To hell with him. To hell with them all.

* * *

**Author's Note: And that's...it. I'm frankly stunned that I finished this story, but finished it is. Thank you to Brave November and DarkLordUmbra for reviewing, I do appreciate it. If you (you, the mythical reader...hello) have any questions, thoughts or criticism, feel free to throw 'em at me. If you think this story is a piece of rubbish, then feel free to tell me so. And thank you reading all the way down to Chapter 9. ^_^**


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